


date night

by bokutoma



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Blushing Alistair (Dragon Age), F/M, alistair is trying so hard, sketchy bartenders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-09-06 11:18:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16831579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bokutoma/pseuds/bokutoma
Summary: alistair theirin really likes reilyn surana. naturally, he embarrasses himself constantly in her presenceat least he tries, right?





	date night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jentrevellan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jentrevellan/gifts).



Alistair, in his dreams, was a suave, charming man. He was debonair in every sense of the word, and he could entrance women across Thedas with one well timed cheese joke.

In reality, however, what Alistair Theirin knew about romance would fit in a thimble with room to spare.

The Gnawed Noble was not the prettiest or most well kept place, but it far surpassed the Pearl, and anywhere nicer wouldn't accept an awkward, gangling bastard or an elf, no matter how refined she might be, so when Leliana suggested that they take time to relax, there was only one place that he knew he could go. Leli had winked at him, taken him aside and told him to polish his armor, find a flower, and blow Reilyn away, He had protested hotly, first that he held no intimate feelings toward the younger Warden, then, once Leliana had pointed out the amount of times she had seen them holding hands at camp, that he had no idea how to be romantic, but she wouldn't hear him.

Now, he was standing before the knife knicked door of the tavern, hands trembling in a way that he desperately hoped wasn't noticeable to the woman at his side, summoning courage he was positive he didn't have.

"Are you going to go in?" Reilyn asked, laughing quietly beside him. "If we wait much longer, a queue will form behind us, and we'll have a bunch of sweaty mercenaries at our backs."

"Sounds like a typical Wednesday." It was a pitiful attempt at a joke, any possible humor snatched by the thin, reedy sound of his voice, but she giggled anyway, and he could hardly fathom the amount of relief that flooded through him at the sound.

He held the door open for her, tried to battle the flush of his cheeks at both her warm smile and the subtle scent of flowers from her ashen hair, and promptly tripped over his own feet the moment he set foot inside.

He stumbled forward, luckily managing to catch himself on one of the booths that stretched along the wall. From that angle, he couldn't see Reilyn's face, but as his ears steamed from embarrassment, he thought he might as well rather run himself through on his own sword than ever meet her gaze again.

A slender hand ghosted along his back, and he sighed, turning and meeting the junior Warden's questioning eyes with his own.

"Apparently, my many talents include sweeping myself off my feet." He had attempted a deadpan expression, but the redness of his face counteracted his intent, as well as the automatic curve of his mouth at seeing her smile.

"You have quite the gift," she teased, but there was nothing mocking about her countenance, even as her finger thudded gently against his forehead. "Perhaps we should put on shows at every place we visit, raise money for the road by watching your little one man play."

He grinned. "I think I'd need several drinks in me first."

"That can be arranged." He watched the upturn of her face as she smiled, looping her arm through his and gently tugging him forward. "Still, consider it. I think you'd be quite the hit with the ladies of Denerim."

" _Just_ the ladies of Denerim?" he found himself asking, his gaze tracking the curve of her jaw to the bow of her lips. "I think I should be aiming higher."

She smiled broadly at that, but didn't answer even as they reached the counter. He reluctantly tore his gaze away from her to order even as the barkeep lumbered forward.

"What will you and the wench be having to drink?" the man asked, and though they both tensed at his words, Alistair could feel the press of her fingers, asking him not to cause a scene.

Still, he tilted his chin up, feeling rather more brash than he ever had outside of battle. "Whatever you've got that doesn't taste like piss," he said, a hard edge to his voice. "The _lady_ had a more refined taste than you might be used to."

The barkeep rocked back onto his heels, appraising him with a sharp gaze. "You seem like a capable man. What say I give you a chance for free drinks?"

He could feel the press of Reilyn's fingers again, and somehow, he knew what she meant.

_Give him hell, Alistair. I've got your back._

"I would say that I'd be a fool to not at least hear you out." He noted the way the bartender's gaze flashed to the right, where the rooms were, knew Reilyn had seen it too from the slight tilt of her head. "What would I have to do?"

"Beat me in an arm wrestling match."

Alistair was immediately suspicious. Certainly, the man was powerfully built, but he was clearly not a warrior, and though Alistair wasn't as strong as Sten, he had gotten closer to matching him since they had begun to train with each other to stay sharp.

"And if I were to lose?"

"A turn or two about the inn with your _lady,"_ he sneered. "Don't worry. I won't be more untoward than she wants from me."

"She is not- Reilyn is not a _prize,"_ he spluttered.

Still, she stepped slightly in front of him, a serene smile on her face. "Let me see the drinks in question, and we shall determine our answer from that."

"Anything in the house."

"Including the West Hill Brandy, then, I presume."

The barkeep shifted uncomfortably. "Well, we like to save that one for paying customers. It's a particular favorite of Arl Howe's."

"You did say anything in the house...unless, of course, you are not a man of your word."

The barkeep appraised her, hesitating...and then he nodded. "Aye, I certainly did." He turned to Alistair. "House rules okay with you?"

"Oh, uh, sure," he agreed, immediately regretting his agreement at Reilyn's sidelong displeased look. 

"May I have a minute to wish him luck?" she asked demurely, and even though he knew she was manipulating that lecherous man, he felt his heart flutter regardless.

"Aye."

Quickly, she pulled him aside, twining her arms around his neck to disguise her intentions. He flushed heavily, but tried to stay focused....aaaaaand now he was watching the movement of her mouth, which absolutely _not_ helpful at all.

"The house rules are almost certainly dirty. He's as likely to shiv you in the side as have someone jump you. I'll do my best to make sure nothing happens to you, but win quickly, Alistair." Her eyes flashed in equal measures of irritation and protective anger. "I'd like to leave."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make such a mess of this-"

She shushed him with a delicate finger against his lips, her face softening into gentle beauty. "You didn't do anything wrong," she said, and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek that made him blush down to his toes. "I'm just looking forward to being alone with you."

_"Oh!"_ he cried, embarrassingly loud, then clapped a hand over his mouth. 

Her lips twitched as she suppressed a laugh, but he was too dazed to comment, instead turning to the barkeep with single-minded determination, confidence renewed.

"Are you quite ready, serah?" the man asked, mouth twisted in a poorly concealed sneer.

Wordlessly, Alistair rested his arm on the table, raising a challenging eyebrow,

Then a meaty hand was clasping his own, and the game was on.

It was harder than Alistair had expected, and he lost ground before he caught himself. _Sten would be displeased,_ he found himself thinking, and laughed, wild with exhilaration, before redoubling his efforts.

Sudden pressure quested at his side, seeking to burrow beneath his armor. He chanced a look at Reilyn, saw her nod at him, and did his best to ignore it as his arm strained with effort and he pushed forward.

Something clattered to the ground, and the pressure was gone. He took another couple of inches as surprise flickered across the ale carved lines of the barkeep's face.

"Giving up?" he asked merrily, and then pain paralyzed him to the bone.

Magic, lyrium foul and iron smelling, emanated from his right. He could do something about it, but then he would be taking his attention off of the match, something he was desperately clinging onto as it was.

"Are you feeling alright, serah?" the barkeep asked, and if he had been any more smug, Alistair might have called him Morrigan.

"Just peachy," he managed to grit out, high and stumbling over the lancing hurt coursing through his body. "I'll be better when I have your best alcohol in me, though."

He caught small flickers of movement from the rapidly clouding edges of his vision and relaxed; Reilyn knew what she was doing. Another white hot sear of pain lanced through him, but he managed to remain strong even as the barkeep's hand bore down on his with even greater strength.

A muffled gasp wormed its way past the fuzziness of his hearing, and, like the light of the Maker himself, the yawning pain disappeared.

It was far past time to finish this bullshit.

His arm bulged and flexed as he exerted the new surge of energy relief had given him, and finally, he slammed the barkeep's hand to the wood with a resounding thud.

"Well," he said, a tired smile flitting across his face thoughtlessly. "Bring out the brandy! Its master has arrived!"

Beside him, Reilyn laughed, slipping under his arm to subtly support him. The barkeep's scowl intensified as she cried, "You heard the man! Bring him his drink!" She was more unreserved than he had ever seen her in public, and his heart seemed to swell in his chest.

"Aye, your drink, as promised," the man said, and made to open the bottle and pour it, but, the mischievous look on Reilyn's face spurring him on, he halted him with a hand blocking the way. 

"We'll be taking the bottle to go."

The man seemed about to protest, but Reilyn's deft hands snatched the bottle from his grasp, and, laughing brightly, she pulled him along and out the door, and he was helpless to do anything but follow, his heart in his throat.


End file.
